


Obsession

by glacis



Category: Pirates of the Caribbean
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-31
Updated: 2010-01-31
Packaged: 2017-10-06 22:12:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/58283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glacis/pseuds/glacis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will discovers the treasure he's obsessed with isn't quite the one he thought it was.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Obsession

_With thanks to Mona, my German friend and editor._

**Jack** **:** You know for having such a bleak outlook on pirates you’re well on your way to becoming one. Sprung a man from jail, commandeered a ship of the Fleet, sailed with a buccaneer crew out of Tortuga …and you’re completely obsessed with treasure.

**Will** **:** That’s not true. I’m not obsessed with treasure.

**Jack** **:** Not all treasure is silver and gold, mate.

Long engagements were a good thing, in Will’s view.   He’d been too busy staring at his boot buckles, and she too busy picturing him in pirate’s garb, to truly see one another.  Once his ring was on her finger… once he’d finished making her ring and put it on her finger… it would be done.

As bedazzling as she was, as true as his love felt, as pure as the passion they shared may be... he stopped along the battlement wall and stared out over the water.  Mayhap that was the problem.  He wasn’t completely sure that passion was supposed to be pure.

True, they’d shared a kiss or several, and they’d all left him with his head clouded and his limbs a-tremble.  He’d seen her in breeches and had fever dreams for days.  She stared at him as if the answers to all the questions in heaven were clear in his eyes.  But when he touched her… aye, when he touched her…

“You pine for him.”

Commodore Norrington’s voice startled him nigh into leaping right off the wall.  Cursing himself for an idiot, Will turned with as much panache as a man who’d nearly wet his breaks could muster and glared at his rival for Elizabeth’s affections.

Well, not that he was a rival so much now that she’d declared for Will, but there was a niggling feeling at the base of Will’s brain that informed him on a regular basis that while Norrington may have lost the battle he’d not yet lost the war.  That voice sounded too much like Jack Sparrow for Will’s liking.  His glare intensified.

“I’ve no idea what you’re talking about,” he informed Norrington stiffly.

Norrington smirked at him.  With evil intent.  It wasn’t an expression with which Will had much experience seeing on Norrington’s face.  It threw him.  Giving Norrington all the opening he needed to crowd Will so close against the stone wall Will half-expected to be thrown off it at any moment.  He chanced a quick, panicked glance behind and below him.  The water churned hungrily on the rocks.

Will gulped and turned back to find that Norrington was mere inches from him.  His eyes widened and his hands came up automatically to push at Norrington’s chest.  His wrists were caught firmly in a strong grip, not so strong he couldn’t throw it off, but strong enough to give him pause.

Or perhaps what stopped him in his steps was the light in Norrington’s eyes.  He looked as hungry as the ocean had.

“I’ve been in Her Majesty’s Navy since I was a lad,” Norrington said softly, staring intently at Will, paralyzing him as a rabbit before a wolf.  “I recognize the signs.”

“What signs?” Will squeaked, then winced, refusing to believe he had, indeed, squeaked.

“Of a man missing his mate,” Norrington told him, then made a move that made Will’s jaw drop in shock.

Norrington kissed him.

He also took advantage of the fact that Will’s mouth hung open, and put a good deal of effort into laving the entirety of the inside of Will’s mouth with his tongue.  Over palette, across teeth, pressing upon tongue, until Will was out of breath, out of sorts, and nearly out of his mind.  He was also stiff as a board, pushing up against his buttons until they were fit to burst, his hands spread out now against Norrington’s chest and kneading like a wanton cat.

The only satisfaction Will had was that, when Norrington finally let him go, there was a flush painted high on Norrington’s cheeks, and his eyes held a hectic flush to match the excitement pressing Will’s own down below.  The two men stared at one another, Will in shock, Norrington in satisfaction, until Norrington stepped back and Will remembered to breathe.

“You know what you want.  And it’s not Elizabeth.  Are you man enough to admit it and pursue it?”

The arrogance in his voice was marred by a huskiness Will found rather appealing.  He then shook his head, trying to knock that errant thought back out before it had a chance to sink in.  Norrington reached forward and caught Will’s chin in a tight grip, forcing Will to look at him.

“The Black Pearl was taken three days ago and sunk to the depths.  Most of the crew died in the battle.  Two, though wounded, escaped the carnage.  A boat was last seen heading away from the wreckage.  Aboard that board were Gibbs… and Jack Sparrow.”

Will jumped, starting forward instinctively.  “Where?” he asked urgently.

Norrington’s smirk broadened.  It looked decidedly odd on his kiss-swollen lips.  Will snarled at him.  Norrington gave him the heading, and Will turned on his heel, running for his maps.

The ensuing justification for his departure was less difficult than he’d expected.  Elizabeth stared at him for a moment, then glanced away, looking out the window.  “Jack’s in trouble?”

“Wounded,” Will told her, “with only Gibbs to help, and Gibbs wounded as well.  I’ve marked where the tide would take them, and there’s no help to be found.  I’ve got to go rescue him.”

“You…” Elizabeth started to speak, then stopped.  “Him…”  Another false start.

Will cocked his head and looked at her, uncomprehending.  She sighed.

“Of course you do.”

He beamed at her.  Her answering smile was a tad sickly, and he thought perhaps her corset was laced too tightly for comfort.  She touched his face, then turned away from him to call the maid for his hat and cloak.

He’d kissed Elizabeth and headed for the docks before he realized the stark truth.  Norrington hadn’t had to win the war.

Will had lost it before he’d begun the fight.

It bothered him, greatly, but not greatly enough to stop his mission.  It would be all right.  Elizabeth understood these things.  Jack needed him.  He had to go.

And so he did.

 

All his life Will had been told he thought too much.  He knew his place, aye, that he did, but his place kept shifting and he didn’t fit it so well as he once did.  Nor so well as others said he ought.  Becoming engaged to marry the governor’s daughter was bad enough.  Leaving her to search after a marooned pirate should have been worse.

Except none appeared the least surprised when he did.

He thought of that, as he sailed the Merriweather, the small boat he’d borrowed with Norrington’s blessing (and that in itself made him uneasy) through the choppy waves to the deeper water.  It was the matter of a few days’ sail from Port Royal to the tiny island he’d marked on his map.  He had plenty of time, in the clear weather on the calm sea, to ponder.  And he had many things to ponder.

His place.  His future.  His future wife and his place in her life.  The balance of Jack’s need over his own; of Elizabeth’s claim over Jack’s; of the truth in Norrington’s words, not to mention that blasted kiss.  It all made Will mightily uncomfortable, not least because he had a feeling he was about to ruin his life completely and he couldn’t find it in himself to care.

The overriding consideration on his brain was to get to Jack.  To get to Jack and make sure he was alive.  Right then, to get to Jack, make sure he was alive, and keep him that way.  Well, moreso to get to Jack, make sure he was alive, keep him that way, and sail away from the island upon which he’d been marooned.

And perhaps, just perhaps, keep right on sailing.

The guilty thought intruded, then refused to go away.  Since he couldn’t ignore it, he mulled it over, as he pulled and set ropes, furled and tied sail, adjusted his course, stared at the stars.  The more he thought on it, the more it came to him that it wasn’t just Jack he was running to find.

It was Elizabeth he was running away from… Elizabeth, and her expectations, and his place, and how much he’d grown out of it.  There’d been more than understanding in her eyes when he’d kissed her goodbye.  There’d been resignation, and acceptance, and it had made no sense at all at the time.

It made all the sense in the world now, staring out over the endless ocean, listening to the wind in the sails, the timbers creaking, feeling the pitch and roll beneath his feet.  She’d known he wasn’t coming back before he even knew he was going.

He didn’t know whether to be dismayed or relieved by this realization.  He thought he should feel guilt, or heartbreak, or any of a dozen different emotions, but he’d always been the pragmatic sort, making the best of a bad lot.  When his lot suddenly turned wonderful, he’d not had the inclination to linger, and he’d escaped it the first excuse he got.  He shook his head in disbelief at his own oddity, then looked up sharply at the first sight of land in the distance.  The glimpse of smoke he saw rising from a fire somewhere inland shook away all his distraction.

Deep thought could wait for a more opportune moment.  Right then, he had a pirate to rescue.

Well, two, though for some reason he kept forgetting Gibbs.

Perhaps it was because all he could think of was Jack.

It was a tricky passage finding his way far enough inland to drop anchor without breaking the hull on the shoals, but he did it.  For a man who’d been landlocked most of his life it hadn’t taken him long to learn sea ways.  His first voyage to Tortuga had been a lifetime’s education, and Jack, for all his strangeness, was an adept teacher.  There’d been times Will turned to see Jack looking at him in such a way the dark eyes went right through him, but Jack never offered a reason for his searching and Will never asked.

It wasn’t until weeks later, after kissing Elizabeth good night and returning to his bed alone, that Will admitted to his dreams.  In the late hours of the night, his visions were not of his fiancée, but of those dark eyes and Jack’s wicked grin.  Jack’s surprisingly graceful hands and Jack’s purposeful insanity.

Will shook off distraction yet again and lowered a dingy alongside the boat.  He rowed to shore quickly, eyeing the small satchel of medical supplies, a water jug and a bundle of food wrapped in oilskin at his feet.  He’d gathered what he could, Elizabeth helping, and come as quickly as possible, but he was no doctor.  He could only hope for the best and prepare for the worst.

What he found when he got to the makeshift camp was something in between the two extremes.

Gibbs half-sat, half-lay against a rotting log, bottle of rum in one hand and bloody rag in the other.  He stared with dumb misery across the fire at Jack, who lay curled on his side on a pile of wet rags that at one time might have been a greatcoat.  Jack’s headscarf was torn and stained with blood, as were what remained of his clothes.  Will dropped the bundle of supplies into the soft sand, drawing Gibbs’ attention.

“Mary, Mother of God!” he gasped.

“No, it’s only me,” Will answered absently, rummaging through the bundle for the medical bag and hurrying to Jack’s side.  He touched Jack’s shoulder gently, and dark eyes popped open to stare at him.  They were distinctly glazed.

“Not Mary, indeed,” Jack slurred, “but an angel nonetheless.  If it’s not our Will himself then I’ll be damned, not that I’m not damned already, but damned if I’m not!”  With that incomprehensible though joyous greeting, Jack’s eyes rolled up in his head and he passed out stone cold.

“Damnation,” Will exclaimed, dropping to his knees beside the still body and turning it over for his inspection.  The damage was neither as extensive nor as gruesome as he’d expected; rather, the strong scent of rum wafting from Jack’s open mouth answered Will’s primary question regarding the pirate’s condition.  “That’s a relief,” Will muttered.

“What is, young sir?” Gibbs asked, then toppled over sideways, causing a stirring of musty leaves and bark from the stump to break off and foul the air.

Will wrinkled his nose, and glanced over his shoulder at Gibbs, readying a stern reprimand that died unspoken on his lips.  Gibbs lay, eyes staring blindly at the night sky, passed out drunk as, well, a sailor on the sand.  Will sighed and turned back to Jack.  One drunken sot was quite enough to handle at any given moment, and Jack was his priority.

Quickly washing and bandaging surface wounds, thanking a merciful God that none were life-threatening, Will hurried to doctor Jack before he could waken from his stupor.  Rum was good for many things, not least of which was making the handling of a poor patient much easier.

When Jack was thoroughly patched up, Will covered him with the tattered coat.  Then he turned and added some wood to the fire, making free of the rotting log.  It smelled terrible, but it warmed them up nicely.  By then, Gibbs was coming round.

“Young Turner?” he asked, his voice thin and reedy.  “Are you a dream phantom or are you rescue, indeed, come to reclaim us from this godforsaken rock?”

“I have a boat,” Will answered shortly, though his hands were gentle as he tended to the man’s hurts.  “Are you capable of helping me stow Jack on the dinghy?”

“If ‘twill get us away, laddie, I’m able enough to carry Atlas himself upon my shoulder.

The first mate was as good as his word, staggering only slightly as he took Jack’s arm over his shoulder.  Will took the other side, trying and failing to ignore the fever-warmth of Jack’s body so close to his own.  By the time they’d settled Jack in the dinghy, and Will had retrieved the bundle of supplies, he nearly had his wanton arousal under control.  He took up the oars and steered them toward the boat.

Halfway there, Jack slumped over.  His shoulder slid against Will’s thigh, his head coming to rest in Will’s lap.  His cheek lay hard against Will’s stomach, and despite the chill in the evening air Will could swear he felt the heat of Jack’s breath ghosting across his groin.  The arousal he’d worked to suppress roared back to life with a vengeance.

By the time they arrived at the Merriweather it wasn’t merely Jack’s deadweight that made it hard to move him.  Will found movement difficult in its own right, given that he was practically as hard as if he’d forged his prick out of pure steel.  The slide of Jack’s body against his own as they hauled him aboard the boat tore a moan from Will’s throat.

“You all right there, laddie?” Gibbs asked with concern.

“Oh, yes,” Will answered, more breath than voice, then cleared his throat at Gibbs’ astonished look.  “Erm, quite, yes, excellently well, thank you for asking,” he babbled, using Jack’s body as a shield to hide his condition as he manhandled the unconscious man toward the main cabin.

It was a very long night.

Happily, Gibbs passed out again shortly after helping Will settle Jack.  Will spent the waning hours of the night hovering over Jack’s bedside, wiping the sweat and grime from his face and body with damp cloths, pressing a fist against his own rampant arousal to discourage himself from putting a leg over that delicious, if unconscious, body, and in general doing his damnedest not to think about anything at all.

Eventually he succeeded.  The mindless routine of washing and checking bandages, making rounds to check the boat (and Gibbs) then returning to wash and check bandages again, led Will to a state of mind where he could concentrate wholly on the body beneath his hands and the boat beneath his feet.  Dawn had broken when Gibbs surprised Will by coming into the cabin bearing a food-laden tray.

“Get this down yer gob,” he told Will kindly.  “Ye look like ye’ve been chewed up by a sea snake and spat back out again.”

Will grinned at the imagery, but took the tray and tore into breakfast like a starving man.  Gibbs leaned against the door and stared from Will to Jack, lying asleep in a cocoon of blankets, then back to Will again.

“Ye’re a good man, Will Turner,” he said softly.  “Jack’s needed that for a long time.  Never truly had that before.”

“Not even from my father?” Will asked involuntarily, then choked on his bread.

Gibbs gave him a knowing look.  “Not quite the same thing, no.”  With a sly grin, he nodded respectfully and left the cabin.

Will stared at the closed door for a long time before rousing himself to drink his by-now stone cold tea.  Was it written on his face somehow?  Rather like Elizabeth had known he was a pirate, even when he’d fought all his life to hate pirates and all they stood for.  How had Norrington, then Elizabeth, and now Gibbs, seen something in Will’s way with Jack that bespoke more than friendship?  It was puzzling.

A stifled whimper came from the bed, and Will immediately set his cup down and turned to see to Jack’s needs.  Only after he’d soothed the restless sleeper, checked the bandages and resettled the blankets around Jack’s shoulders did he smile ruefully at how quickly he’d jumped to Jack’s slightest movement.

Perhaps there was no need for it to be written on his skin; it must shine from him like a beacon.

Oddly, it didn’t bother him nigh as much as it probably should.  He perched on the side of the bed, staring down at Jack, and let his mind wander.

The day passed peaceably enough.  Thankfully, there was no fever, and Jack slept more soundly than Will might have hoped.  Gibbs spent most of the day on-deck, stopping in a few times to look in on Jack, and once to share luncheon with Will.  Talk was quiet, comfortable, and Will felt a peace he’d only felt once fleetingly before, on the first voyage out to Tortuga, before the world crashed back upon them.

Jack woke fully about sundown, his dark eyes lighting as they rested on Will.  Will found himself grinning back for no reason he could name, ridiculously happy simply to be in Jack’s company again.  Will placed a tray of stew and biscuits across Jack’s lap, and Jack tucked in like the nearly-starving man he was.

Will perched on the side of the bed and, for want of anything better to watch, stared at Jack.  Jack, intent on his food, ignored Will’s regard until the plate was scraped clean, then leaned back against the pillows with a luxurious stretch that would have done any pampered cat proud.  It also nearly upset the tray, and Will leaned forward quickly to rescue it.

Turning back from placing the dishes to safety on the table, Will opened his mouth to scold Jack for everything from getting into trouble as soon as Will’s back was turned to being so careless with the crockery.  What he saw when he faced the bed smothered the words in his throat.

Jack had kicked the cover away and lay sprawled, as wanton as could be, one leg crooked at the knee and the other stretched straight out.  His shirt lay open, the bandages dotting his torso stark against his swarthy skin, and he’d unlaced his breeches.  His right hand dipped inside and Will’s eyes were riveted by the slow, steady movement he could clearly see over the flesh straining at the material.

“Why are you standing all the way over there, when you’d be put to much better purpose much closer in?”

Jack’s voice sounded rough, low, inviting, making Will’s fingers itch to touch him, much the way finely-wrought metal-work tempted him to touch.  He’d gotten in trouble for this in the past, but he had an inkling Jack was made of stronger stuff than the candelabra at the Mansion.

His body made up his mind for him and Will found himself crawling across the bed to straddle Jack’s hips before his mind got past gibbering at the absolute seduction that was Jack en déshabille.  Moving as if mesmerized, Will dropped his hand to rest atop Jack’s, following the movement, up, and down, then up, and down again.

“Mustn’t hurt you,” Will muttered.

Jack whimpered.  It didn’t sound as if it was from pain.

Will leaned forward, hoping for a clearer view, when Jack’s free hand looped round the back of his neck and pulled him forward.  Startled, Will opened his mouth to exclaim, only to find it filled with Jack’s tongue.  A tongue which, by the nature of its actions, might be considered prehensile.

By the time Jack finished with him, Will had been most thoroughly kissed, was utterly out of breath, and had maneuvered himself between Jack’s thighs.  Somewhere along the line Jack’s hand and Will’s hand upon Jack’s hardness was replaced by Will’s full weight, thrusting deliciously against Jack, tearing whimpers from them both.

Still not from pain.

“Better…” Jack panted against Will’s neck, “were there less between us…”

He then untangled his hand from Will’s hair, leaving Will to wonder when _that_ had happened, and tore at Will’s laces.  Realizing that Jack was quite right, and these sort of movements were really intended for bare flesh, Will unwrapped his own hands from their finger-cramping grasp on Jack’s buttocks and skinned Jack out of his breeches with as much alacrity as Jack skinned Will out of his own.

Yes.

Quite right.

Hot naked flesh and sweat and slickness spreading between them… a definition of heaven Will could actually believe.  Will lost what little control he had left at the feel of Jack writhing beneath him, hands once more clamping with bruising strength on Jack’s now-nude buttocks as Will arched into him, spending life and will and strength all over Jack’s belly.

“Sweet God,” Jack whispered, sounding awed.  Will opened his eyes to find Jack staring up at him, face lit with a grin, an expression so tender and amused Will couldn’t hope to be anything but entranced.

Then he relaxed completely atop Jack.  The grin was lost as Jack’s face went slack and he pushed up desperately against Will, his completion seeming to take him by surprise.  His eyes fell shut and his mouth fell open, as he panted for breath and shuddered beneath Will.  The expression of ecstasy warring with pain Will saw prompted him to draw a bare inch away.  Jack’s hands tightened convulsively on his shoulders, and Will dropped a kiss on Jack’s nose, then his lips, then his chin, then his throat, then left a trail of them down Jack’s chest.

Reassured that Will was going nowhere, Jack’s hands relaxed until they could stroke across the top of Will’s shoulders, running along the sides of his face and petting his hair.  Will enjoyed the sensation of Jack’s hands roaming over him as he leant down and began to lick the combined spill from their lovemaking from Jack’s skin.

To Will’s surprise, considering the fact that Jack had been marooned, hurt, and drunk off his gourd in the past few days, his ministrations caused Jack to harden again.  He glanced up, eyebrows rising as he looked a question up at Jack.

Jack grinned down at him with an expression that could only be called wicked.  “Strong constitution, mate,” he purred.  “Takes more than a gallon of rum, a pesky shark or two, a double-handful of sand crabs and a run-in with Her Majesty's finest to get me down.  Takes only the application of my Will to get me up again!”

Up he was, indeed.  Will snorted at the bad pun, the rush of his breath over Jack’s erection causing it to jump.  He found that rather entertaining, so did it again.  Jack growled.

“Never thought I’d see the day when I’d be calling you a prick-tease, Will Turner,” he mock-snarled.

“’Tis not a tease if one delivers on one’s promises,” Will told him primly, then ran his tongue the length of Jack’s flesh, ending by taking the head in his mouth and giving it a good strong suck.

The shout that elicited would have brought Gibbs running if the first mate hadn’t known precisely what the lads would be getting up to as soon as Jack was fully conscious.  Will shrugged off the thought and licked, then sucked again, rousing another shout from Jack.  Things continued on in this vein for some time, until Will himself was hard and leaking, and Jack was close to spending.

Hands that were both fierce and gentle tugged at Will’s hair, drawing him reluctantly away from the prize in his mouth.  Jack then claimed his lips for another consuming kiss, curling a leg around Will’s hips and pushing their bodies together.  This time when they reached completion, they reached it together, their kiss breaking only so they could draw air to starving lungs and expel it in twin cries of pleasure attained.

In the aftermath, they lay twined together.  Will reached over and pulled the discarded cover over them, as the chill of the night air crept through the cabin.  He tightened his hold on Jack as the other man began to mutter and occasionally sing, nonsense that Will wouldn’t have been able to follow completely even if he wasn’t worn to the bone with the most pleasant exhaustion.  He let the words wash over him, surrendering to sleep, his face tucked into the curve of Jack’s shoulder, his body blanketed with Jack’s warmth.

A few thoughts surfaced as he slipped away to sleep.  Decisions made at the level of primal instinct, with no need for rational argument, for when did love ever yield to logic?

He’d not be going back to Port Royal.  Elizabeth had known before Will had, and Norrington not long after Elizabeth.  No, he’d stay where he was, in his place, at Jack’s side.  He’d guard, and no doubt chase after, his treasure for as long as Jack would have him.  Burying his smile against Jack’s neck, he nuzzled gently.  All indications were that obsession would last the rest of their lives.

END


End file.
